


variation and repetition

by Glitter_Lisp



Series: aria [1]
Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt Harry Hook, Hurt/Comfort, Siren Harry Hook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 11:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20705135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitter_Lisp/pseuds/Glitter_Lisp
Summary: Harry Hook is not fully human. Knowing that on the Isle, surrounded by a magical barrier, is not the same thing as knowing that in Auradon, where there's nothing to stop him if he can't control twenty years of suppressed magic manifesting all at once.





	variation and repetition

Harry didn't sing. He didn't hum. He whistled, because moving air wasn't the same thing. It was safe in a way that his voice wasn't. 

Singing safely just took so much _ work. _Hurt his mouth, which always wanted to open just a little too wide. Felt like trying to speak around a mouthful of sand without spitting any out. 

Uma cooed and rubbed gently at the sharp corners of his jaw, just below his ears. “Sweet boy,” she said, half teasing, half painfully honest. “There's just not enough ocean around this rock for you, is there?”

Harry whined. Gil had been singing a cheerful sea shanty earlier. The crew had joined in, laughing as they came up with increasingly bawdy verses, and Harry had bitten nearly through his tongue over the sharp desire to join in. He could sing louder than them. He could sing _ better_. 

He healed quickly; a few gulps of seawater and it was nothing more than an ache. Uma still found him curled up on the floor in her cabin that night, eyes wide and wild, both hands clamped over his mouth. He hadn't been able to pull them away yet, but Uma didn't try to make him, simply crouched in front of him and started petting. This was a familiar pattern for the both of them. 

One hand stroked upwards, scratching gently at his scalp and getting caught in his hair where it was dried in tangled clumps. Uma snorted. “Did you dunk your whole head in?”

He squirmed, just a little bit. Uma looked down and softened as she took in his bare feet and tacky, salt-dried clothes from where he had dunked his whole _ self _ in the water. He wiggled his toes a little to hear her laugh, and she did—just a soft little huff, barely more than a breath, but it was there and he had made it happen. 

“I bit my tongue,” he mumbled through his fingers. Uma looked briefly confused, then grimaced and shook her head. His voice was too distorted for her to understand, stuck behind his hands the way it was. He flexed his fingers a few times, and finally managed to pry them apart enough to try again. “I bit my tongue.”

Uma softened even as she hissed in a breath through her teeth. “Can I see?” she asked, uncharacteristically polite. He could say no and she wouldn't mind. That silent assurance was why he managed to pull his hands away. They stayed nearby, hovering awkwardly below his chin, visibly trembling now that they weren't pressed so tightly to his face. Uma smiled proudly—he relaxed, just a touch—and rested two fingers gently on his lower lip until he managed to open his mouth. He couldn't do it very widely, still too terrified that his teeth would snap together on pure instinct, but Uma was perfectly calm as she ran her fingertips over his tongue to feel out the swollen marks. 

“You got a little pointy there, huh?” she asked sympathetically. “You already had a drink?”

He nodded and leaned back just enough that her fingers slid out of his mouth. His hands lifted to his mouth again, but he held them loosely, covering it instead of holding it shut. “Mhm.”

Seawater always worked. Worked for Uma, too. Fish from the same reef, them. 

“You want to make a little noise for me?” Uma asked. “Just a note or two, if you want.”

He hesitated, pulled his hands away, and squawked out a high, pitchy seagull cry. Uma stared for a second, then fell back on her ass laughing. 

Harry covered his mouth again, but this time it was to hide his grin. 

**\-----**

On the Isle, there was Auradon on one horizon and vast, endless ocean on the other. The first thing they did when everything was over was take the crew and the ship and sail out as far as they could. They didn’t know how, not really; they were working off of stories and games. But they were _ pirates_. It was in their blood. Harry stood on the deck and felt the sun above him and the water below, tasted salt in the air, and saw nothing but blue in every direction he looked. It made him feel small. It made him feel powerful. 

When they came back, it took him three days to get used to walking on land again. Gil and Uma both laughed themselves stupid watching him stumble over even ground and go careening to the side every other step, but they also walked beside him, a casual arm hooked through his or slung over his shoulders, steadying him without looking like they were.

A week later, Uma took him right back out on the water in a little rowboat that hardly even counted as a boat. He was a little amazed it could hold water, but he didn't question it, simply followed her lead and rowed until she judged it a safe enough distance from land. She slipped out of the boat—and into another body—and pulled them out even farther. 

When they had left the Auradon coast so far behind that Harry couldn't tell which direction it was in, Uma let go and allowed the boat to drift. She lifted herself out of the water then, just enough to prop her arms up on the bow of their little vessel. Harry automatically leaned back to balance the weight, watching her with lazy, half-lidded eyes. 

“Not that I'm opposed,” he said with a grin, “but a little warning would have been nice. I would have at least brought a towel, maybe a cushion.” He eyed her tentacles doubtfully. “Or. Lube? Is that... going to be a thing now?”

“I… hadn't actually thought of that,” Uma said, blinking. “But that's not why we're here. Sing me a song, Mr. Hook.”

The grin froze on his face. “Do what now?”

She gestured around them towards the endless horizon in every direction. “Who are you going to hurt here? No one but us for miles, and it's not like you're going to drown me. Never have a better opportunity than this.”

He thought he should have refused, should have protested, but he had been silencing himself for twenty years. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the way it sent the boat rocking, threw his head back, and he _ sang_. 

It wasn't a language he knew, or at least not one he had ever been taught. But there was deep water in his veins and open sky in his lungs, and his body knew the music before his mind could catch up enough to wonder how. 

Uma crawled into the boat behind him, but he barely noticed beyond a faint twinge of satisfaction. Instead, he sang out his own fierce joy, his own desire, sent it out across the ocean. Pulled it back to himself only to hurl it into the distance once more. 

_ I am in love. I am so happy. Come, come, feel my joy, let me share it, only if you come here it will all be better, won't you come, don't you want this wonder for yourself, come to me now and I can- _

The hunger opened up in his stomach so suddenly he staggered, and the song stuttered into nothing. It was a vicious, gaping thing, aching and burning, and he doubled over from the pain and the sudden faintness, when had he last eaten, had he ever? He was empty from head to toe, his entire body reduced to a chasm so desperate to be filled, and food wouldn't be enough, not enough, he was _ hungry _ he was _ ravenous _ he was _ starving- _

“Harry?” 

He looked down. Uma was sitting in the boat at his feet, with two legs and a dazed, sleepy expression on her face as she laughed a little incredulously. “That was… Harry?”

He bared his long sharp teeth and snarled at her. She smelled wrong. Not enough to sate him. Not _ right. _But oh, she was close, just almost halfway to what he… wanted…

His head snapped unerringly towards the indistinguishable horizon that his prey was waiting behind. So easy, just sing them a sweet little song and they'll save you all the trouble of killing them yourself. He didn't spare Uma another glance before he was diving off the edge of the boat and into the sea, and his body cut through the water easy as breathing—and he was breathing, there were sharp sweet lines of pain on either side of his neck as gills cut themselves into existence—and it was home, and he was _ hungry_. 

Something grabbed him around the waist. He twisted smoothly out of its grip, but then there was another, and another. He couldn't tell how many there were or even _ what _they were; they seemed to come from every direction, and he kicked and bit and screamed so loudly it reverberated through the water and sent waves on the surface crashing against each other. They pummeled him right back, the thick sliding things, trying so hard to keep him still that they were batting him around in the water like a toy. One wrapped around his arm, and he pulled it free with careless strength then screamed again at the sudden, blinding pain as something snapped. 

One of the things used his distraction to wrap around his neck. He kicked and clawed at it, but his right arm was floating limply beside him, and his opponent was cutting off his breath, so tight around his throat he couldn't inhale, so tight over his gills that no water could reach them. 

He kicked again, weakly, and opened his mouth on a scream that didn't come before his eyes rolled back in his head.

**\-----**

Harry's hand snapped up to touch his neck. Sore, broken skin, hot and stinging to the touch, but smooth. No gills. Human. Human? Looked human. Felt not. Felt tired. Felt hungry. Hungry like a missed meal, not hungry like a lifetime of starvation felt all at once. Normal hungry? Normal. Normal, human hungry. 

He opened his eyes. Clear blue sky above him. He was lying down, on his back, on… sand. Piled up behind him. Uma had left him raised up so he could breathe easier through his crushed windpipe. 

At that thought, he jerked his head around and sat halfway up on his left elbow, eyes darting around wildly. There. There, sitting with her back to him, her feet just barely in the lapping edge of the water, her head buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking. His hand scraped against the sand as he pushed himself up to sitting, and he almost groaned but he bit it back. She heard him anyways, turned and looked over her shoulder. 

Her eyes were red and swollen. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse and trembling. “Harry. You… are you okay, I, I didn't–”

Her shirt was ripped. There were four long, parallel lines running down her arm beneath the tear, and Harry nearly vomited at the sight. His throat tried to let out a small noise, and his hand flew up to cover his mouth, found fabric there already. She had gagged him. 

Uma whipped around onto her knees facing him, both hands held out towards him and an alarmed expression on her tear-streaked face. “Don't take that off!”

He wasn't trying to. He shook his head frantically and tried to press the rough fabric further into his mouth. He wanted it down his throat and into his lungs. He wanted it to stop him from breathing, let alone singing. 

“Harry,” Uma began, shuffling forward on her knees, and Harry scrambled backwards as best he could. His right arm, when he looked down at it, had been splinted with what looked like a piece of one of their oars. His sleeve had been cut away to make room for it. It was probably what was in his mouth now. 

Uma stopped moving. Harry didn't, still kicking desperately at the sand to just get _ away _ from her, but it was slow, awkward going. He couldn't move his right arm, and his left was clamped so hard over his mouth that he could already feel the bruises forming where his fingertips were digging into his jaw. 

“Okay,” Uma said. “Okay, I'll stay back here,” and she settled down, legs folded underneath her. Harry felt a sob rising up in his throat, and he crushed it viciously before it could make its way out of his mouth. It didn't stop the tears now rolling down his cheeks, but crying in front of Uma was something he had stopped being bothered by years ago. Uma was used to it too, would tease and comfort and cajole him back to smiles and wet laughs. 

Now, she looked crushed. “I am _ so sorry,” _ she said, and she wasn't crying anymore but there were tears in her voice, just on the edge of starting again. “I thought it would be good, I didn't know that would happen, and I h-hurt you.” She still didn't cry, but her breath was hitching, and she sobbed once before covering her own mouth. 

Harry kept shaking his head and closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at her and the blood on her clothes. She was wrong. He hurt _ her_, and she had done right to stop him, because he would have torn through the softness of Auradon with claws and teeth and that vicious, all-consuming hunger. 

He did throw up, this time, only there was nowhere for it to go. Choking had seemed appealing just a moment ago, but now pure instinct had him scrambling to rip the gag out of his mouth so he could vomit into the sand. He could hear Uma speaking, but he couldn't understand the words; it was just rough, blurry noise, indistinguishable from the ocean around them and the ringing in his ears. 

He spat a few times, looked at the gag that was now covered in sand and bile, and bit down on his fist instead, using his fingers to pin his tongue to the floor of his mouth. He heard a soft, choked sound and looked at Uma with wide eyes. She was crying again this time, sitting there on the beach and wiping furiously at her cheeks. 

“I'm sorry,” she said again. “You– you looked so fucking scared, and I b-broke your arm, and then I couldn't get you to start _ breathing _again–” 

She broke off, shoulders heaving with sobs. Harry curled over his own knees, watching her through blurry eyes and trying to cram his entire fist into his mouth. He didn't know how to apologize without speaking, without a hand that wasn't broken or occupied with holding back the death that wanted to slip out of his mouth. She didn't need to be sorry. She hadn't deliberately hurt him. Hell, he was pretty sure he broke his own arm when he was trying his hardest to kill her. 

He looked down then. The splint only covered his forearm. He tested it, cautious, and found that he could still bend his elbow, even wiggle his fingers a little bit, though it was perhaps the worst pain he had ever felt. He hadn't been paying much attention when it actually broke. Now, though, he twitched his fingers and his vision swam from the lightning shooting up his arm. 

No matter. He kicked at a scuff of sand, a raspy noise that he could barely make out, but that caught Uma’s attention all the same. Once she was looking, he bit his fist harder and used one finger to carefully write out, upside down, _ SORRY. _

Uma had to lift up on her knees and crane her neck to read it, and when she did her face crumpled even more. 

“No, Harry, don't. This wasn't your fault, you didn't... I brought you out here and then I almost fucking _ choked _ you to death. You didn't do anything wrong, you shouldn't apologize.”

He stared at her. And then pointed at her arm, her legs. Up on her knees the way she was, he could see the similar claw marks down her thighs, and what looked like a bite mark just above her left knee. He had broken skin on his own hand now, and the sharp copper tang of his blood mixed with the taste of bile still in his mouth. 

Uma grimaced. “Okay, you did, but, but it was my fault, I attacked you first, and I made you sing in the first place when I had no right to tell you to.”

He shook his head. He had wanted it too, more than he had ever wanted anything, more than he thought it was possible to want. He sunk his teeth deeper into his skin because he still wanted it, craved that mindless, painless freedom. Not the hunger, not the twisting desire to feast, but the song, when it had been pure and sweet and the most complete he had ever felt. 

He managed to hold back a sob, but he couldn't help the soft, keening whine that slipped out. 

“I'm sorry,” Uma said again, and Harry kicked away the word he had drawn in the sand. 

_ Stop apologizing, _ he wanted to say. _ This isn't your fault, I'm the one who- who- _

He did sob, then, and yanked his hand out of his mouth only to bite down on his forearm. Anything to _ stop _ it, stop hurting her, stop hurting everyone. Well. His hand was throbbing and without looking he could feel the blood dripping down his fingers, but that was okay. Hurting him was okay. 

“Please stop,” Uma said, voice thick from crying. “Harry. Harry, _ stop_, please, I'll put in another gag if you want just please stop doing that–”

He bit harder, closed his eyes, and nodded. Uma made a soft noise, and then he heard the sound of ripping fabric. He opened his eyes to slits to see her rearranging the hem of her now-shorter blouse, then climbing slowly to her feet with a strip of blue fabric hanging from her hand. “I'm gonna come over there, okay?” she asked, the same careful tone she used to use back on the Isle, when he was afraid of something he didn't understand. 

He understood it now. He hadn't known how to be afraid then. 

He made a loose circle in the air with his right arm and mined tapping his fist against his mouth. Uma paused for a half a step, brow furrowed, then nodded and deftly tied a large, thick knot in the middle of the gag. It would fill his mouth more securely than just a strip of fabric would, something they found out years ago in much different—and far more enjoyable—circumstances. 

Uma walked over slowly, but Harry still cringed when she got within arms reach. She stopped, hesitated, then asked, “Do you want to put it in yourself? I'll have to tie it, but if you want to put it in, you can.”

The rush of gratitude would have made Harry dizzy if he weren't already lightheaded from pain and the twisting, miserable shame in his stomach. He held out his broken arm, fingers trembling helplessly, and Uma leaned forward so that she could carefully drop the fabric in his hand. The gag was in seconds later, a comforting weight that kept his jaw stretched wide, and once he had it situated he nodded at her. Uma stepped easily around him, bare feet sure and solid on the shifting sand, and Harry felt his shoulders sag in relief as she tied the knot securely behind his head. Her hands rested there for a moment, then he felt her fingers sliding gently through his hair. He hunched over further, away from the soft touch, and heard her sigh. 

When she stepped back around him, she was still wiping tears off her cheeks and sniffling. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, so. Okay.” She let out a loud breath as she dropped her head back to look up at the sky, hands clenching into fists and then going loose at her sides. “We can wait. We're gonna wait here as long as you need. Sound good?” Harry stared at her blankly, which she seemed to take as agreement. “Okay,” she said again, then walked back towards the water’s edge and lowered herself down onto the sand. “So we'll wait.”

She did. Harry watched her for a while, ready for her to get angry, or start crying again, or jump into the water and swim away. When she did nothing but sit there, drawing idle patterns in the sand, he slowly let himself relax. Uma still sniffled occasionally, but he didn't think she was outright crying anymore. 

His arm hurt. His hand, too, and the various bruises and marks he was sure he would find under his clothes later, but his arm was the worst of it, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He couldn't manage a full breath, between the crying, the gag, and his bruised, aching throat. His skin felt raw and dry. 

Once he realized Uma really was going to wait for him, he finally let himself look around. They weren't on an island, really; it was more a particularly sandy rock, barely a few hundred feet wide, and far enough out that he couldn't hear anything but water. Their boat was lying upside down off to his left—he couldn't see either of the oars, and there was a long, gaping crack along one side that hadn't been there before. It had barely made it past the horizon with Uma pulling it. Now it looked like it wouldn't make it ten yards. 

The sun set before he moved, slowly uncurling his cramping muscles to stretch his legs out in front of him. It took him another few minutes to sit up straight, and he grimaced when he rolled his shoulders and felt his back crack sharply from top to bottom. He worked out the kinks and tight muscles as best he could, wincing whenever he jostled his broken arm, then slowly raised his left hand up to his mouth. The blood on his fingers was dry and flaky. He could smell it, resting on the gag. 

He didn't move. 

He didn't move for hours. Not perfectly still, the way he had been before; he shifted and fidgeted and kept himself from growing stiff and numb again. His left hand, however, stayed over his mouth even as he occasionally flexed and wiggled his fingers. 

He watched the stars move halfway across the sky before he managed to reach back, undo the knot, and slowly, slowly, pull the gag out of his mouth. Uma was asleep already and had been for hours; he wasn't sure if it was simple exhaustion or a pointed statement:_ I trust you. I know you won't hurt me. I can let my guard down around you. _

He flexed his jaw, grunting when he found it stiff and locked up, and spent a few minutes carefully working it around until it stopped aching so sharply. He rolled his neck. He licked his dry lips, coughed, and then whispered, “Uma?”

Well, tried to; his voice came out a croak. He had forgotten for a moment that he had been choked half to death that morning, and then sat still and silent for hours afterwards. He cleared his throat and gasped weakly as he tried to gain his breath and then, finally, pursed his lips and whistled. 

Uma jerked awake immediately, halfway to her feet before she had finished wiping the sleep out of her eyes. When she saw Harry sitting up without the gag in his mouth, she slowly relaxed out of her defensive crouch and settled down more comfortably, absently brushing sand off her cheek. 

“Hey,” she mumbled, sounding sleepy. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, worked his jaw for a moment, then whispered, “Yeah.”

Uma actually jumped. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, that's– that's great. Do you need anything?”

He hesitated, then cut his eyes to the water and mimed drinking. He didn't want to be anywhere close to _ in _ the ocean, but the saltwater would still work its magic regardless. He wasn't sure that he wanted his voice entirely functional, but he couldn't speak to Uma if he couldn't do more than croak. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” she said, hurrying toward the water and scooping out a handful. She paused then and looked over her shoulder apologetically. “There's no cups. Is this okay, or…”

There wasn't really another option. Harry shrugged, and Uma walked over slowly, careful to keep from spilling any of the water in her cupped hands. She stopped right by Harry, and he obediently opened his mouth and tipped his head back so she could dribble it into his open mouth. He stared determinedly up at the stars as he drank, not wanting to know what expression was on Uma’s face. He could guess. 

The first swallow he kept in his mouth for a moment, holding up a finger so he could swish it around and spit it back out. It didn't do much to clear the taste, but it was at least better when he began drinking the rest of the water Uma offered him. It slid smoothly down his throat, numbing and relaxing, and he hated it. He wanted the painful reminder, and he didn't want the sea to be the thing to make it better. 

Still. Needs must. 

He waved his left hand, and Uma immediately pulled her hands away, only to cup his hand and carefully pour the last of the water over it. He grimaced as the ache dissipated and the skin began, slowly, to knit itself back together. It wasn't anything like instantaneous, but it would be fully scabbed over by the time the sun rose, and nothing more than a few faded, bite-shaped scars by the end of the week. Uma took a moment to scrub it clean, too, gently rubbing the bloody streaks off. 

“I don't...” It hurt too much to raise his voice above a whisper, but it no longer felt like he had eaten gravel. He grimaced and tried again, softer. “I don't want to hurt anyone.”

His hand was clean, but Uma didn't let go of it, just kept gently rubbing her thumb across the back of it as she lowered herself down to sit in front of him, legs folded carefully under herself. 

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I know you don't.”

She didn't tell him that he wouldn't, didn't say he was safe or that he could control it. They both knew it would be an empty promise, and one that would hurt all the more for that when it was broken. Uma wouldn't lie to him. He had more than enough reason to be scared, and there was no use in pretending otherwise. 

“Will you kill me?” he whispered. “If I ask you to?”

Uma closed her eyes for several long seconds, but her voice was still calm and soft when she said, “No. No, I won't. And you shouldn't ask me to.”

He nodded quietly and looked down at his lap. “What do I do, then?”

“Go back to the old way?” she suggested. “You just… don't. Don't sing again.”

Harry bit his lip, then let it go when he felt the sting of his teeth, more sharply pointed than they had been just a day ago, breaking through the skin. “I don't know that I can,” he said, and his voice cracked on the admission. He could still feel that song, terrible and beautiful and deadly, trying to swell up in his lungs and force its way out of his mouth. He could almost taste it. “I still… I can…”

He shifted restlessly in the sand before drawing his legs up to his chest and pulling his hand out of Uma’s so he could wrap his good arm around them. “I liked it,” he whispered. “I wanted to hurt people, and I _ liked _ it. I was– I–”

His eyes burned with stupid tears as he choked on the words. Free. Alive. _ Joyful. _

Uma rested her hand on his knee. He didn't push it away, but he held himself tighter, stiff as stone. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself into her arms, close his eyes, and hide from the world for a while, but he gave up that right when he tried to tear her throat out with his teeth. He wasn't the one who needed to be protected. 

“We could leave,” Uma said quietly. “If you're away from the ocean, there won't be anything to draw power from. We could go to Arendelle, up in the mountains. Or, no, they have a coast, don't they? Agrabah, maybe.”

Harry stared at her, mouth dropping open. “You– you wouldn't– me, maybe, but you can't come.”

Her grip tightened on his knee. “Why not?” she asked, and she sounded tired. 

“You'll dry up,” he whispered. “Said it yourself. No ocean, no power. You might die.”

“I wouldn't,” she said stubbornly. “And even if I did, I still wouldn't leave you alone.” Harry's mouth flapped uselessly, and Uma reached up with her other hand to catch his chin, lifting his head to look at her. He shivered at the deliberate, gentle contact. 

“Where have I ever gone that you haven't followed?” she asked, voice so soft he had to strain to hear it over the quiet water. “Maybe it's your turn to chart our course. You take the helm this time.”

He ducked his head again to nuzzle at her palm, overwhelmed by the offer. She would do it, he knew, without hesitation. She would rip herself from the ocean and live in the heat and the dryness, if it was what he wanted. The top of a mountain, the middle of a forest, too far from the ocean to remember the taste of salt. Uma would tear herself from her home for him. 

She slid her hand up, cupping his cheek, and he leaned his head into her and closed his eyes. She brushed her thumb over his cheek, soothing even as it agitated the torn skin of a cut that he hadn't noticed until she touched it, and his breath left him in a sigh. 

“I don't want to leave,” he whispered. “I don't want to hurt anyone, you least of all. The sea is yours, Uma. I can't take it from you.”

Her hand left his knee then, reaching up to his other cheek so she was holding his face in both hands, the gentlest touch he had ever felt from her calloused and water-wrinkled fingers. “It's yours, too,” she murmured. “It's a big ocean. We can share it.”

“I don't want it,” Harry said, voice breaking. “I want it easy again.”

Uma kissed his forehead. “It's not going to be,” she murmured, lips dry and chapped against his skin, and Harry let out a dry sob. “You know it can't ever be easy. Getting magic after twenty years isn't ever going to be anything but hard.”

He whimpered and turned his head to nuzzle into her palm, while she tucked loose, tangled hair behind his ear with the fingers of her other hand. 

“I don't want it,” he mumbled again, muffling his voice against her hand. He was being childish and stupid, but he couldn't stop the words any more than he could have stopped the songs, clawing their way out of his throat desperate and painful. “I don't, I _ don't, _ I'm scared, please–” 

“We'll fix it,” Uma said, almost frantically, and he thought sickly that she didn't know what to do either. Uma had discovered her power unexpectedly too, but it wasn't like his. She could use it to hurt people if she wanted, but that wasn't the only thing it was meant for. Not like Harry's hunger, the bone deep instinct to sing and feast. 

“I'll take care of you,” she said. They were words he had heard before a thousand times, a comfort and a promise, and he let them sink into him deep and warm. “What's my name?” she asked softly, and Harry sighed and pressed his face harder against her hand. 

“Uma,” he murmured, and tilted his head to kiss her palm. She pulled her hand away, and he swayed after it, opening his eyes to slits. She was watching him, and there were so many conflicting emotions on her face that he gave up trying to figure out what she was feeling. She would tell him or she wouldn't. He was too tired to guess. 

She held out her arms. Harry stared for a moment, thoughts slow and sluggish, then let himself tip slowly forward. She caught him just like always, and she was careful around his bruises even as she held him tight. It wasn't comfortable. She was kneeling up, leaning over him with her arms around his shoulders, and he was sitting crossed legged in front of her, bent over awkwardly to tuck his face against her stomach, right arm cradled carefully in his lap.

It was the first time in hours that he felt like he could breathe. 

He couldn't say how long she held him, but eventually they shifted to something more comfortable, something that let her hold him more securely, something that left him feeling surrounded and caged in and protected. They didn't speak. It was only when the sky lightened to a pre-dawn grey that he shifted. 

“Uma?” he asked, and she hummed. “Can… can we go home?”

“Yeah,” she said, and pressed a quick kiss to his temple. “Whenever you're ready.”

He nodded and slowly pulled himself up to sitting, then standing. He staggered and nearly toppled over, his entire body weak and sore, and Uma did the same. She did fall, and in reaching to help her back up he tumbled right down beside her. 

They stared at each other, and then Harry started snickering. Within minutes they were both nearly cackling, leaning against each other as they hiccuped and giggled and pretended that their tears were from laughing. 

“Okay,” Uma said, still breathless with laughter. “Let's try that again.”

Harry giggled a little hysterically. “After you, Captain,” he rasped. His throat ached worse than ever, and the fall had jolted his arm in a sickening wave of pain, but the brief humor had been such a relief that he couldn't summon up any regrets. Uma tried to scowl and couldn't manage it, lips twitching up into a smile. 

“No way, this is a team effort,” she scolded. “We went down together, we're getting back up together.”

She gripped his good hand, and he smiled stupidly at her and gathered his legs beneath himself. It was slow going, and they nearly fell twice more, but they did eventually make it to their feet. They spent a few minutes stretching their legs, hobbling back and forth until they could stand up straight without screaming. Harry wandered over to the boat and grimaced. 

“Don't suppose you have another boat on hand,” he said dryly. Uma looked over at him and shrugged. 

“No. I thought we could maybe make a raft out of it? And I could pull it.”

Harry made a face as Uma made her way toward him, still awkwardly kicking every other step to shake the numbness out of her legs. “Did I break this or did you?”

“Um,” Uma said. “Kind of a team effort. I threw it at you.”

Harry couldn't bite back a slightly hysterical giggle. “Did you really?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. She looked relieved that he was laughing. “You threw it back.”

“Sounds like me,” Harry said. “You realize you're going to have to build this thing yourself.”

Uma gently knocked her shoulder against his good arm. “Yeah, that was the plan. Do you want more water?”

He hesitated, then finally nodded and let out a defeated sigh. The seawater before had helped, but that was hours ago now, and the ocean could only do so much for him. Uma nodded and went to get him another handful, and he made his way carefully own onto his knees so he could drink it. 

“Thanks,” he murmured, and allowed her to help him back to his feet. She hauled him up easily, now that she had worked out the worst of the stiffness, and turned towards the problem of their boat. There was only so much that could be done with it, but Uma managed to rope it into a small, messy raft that at least didn't sink the second they put it in the water. 

They stood near the shore and watched it bob. Uma had her arms crossed tightly across her chest, jaw set as she very deliberately did not look at Harry. Harry, for his part, was swallowing hard and making aborted half movements towards and away from the water. It was the only way back home, but it was the reason they were in this mess in the first place. 

“This is stupid,” he said finally, frustrated with his own indecision. He just had to do it. He just had to get on the damn raft and let Uma pull him, he didn't even have to get in the water past his knees. All he had to do was climb on and sit there until she got them home. He would be gagged again—Uma had fought him on that one, but he wasn't taking any chances, too worried that being in the water would be a temptation he couldn't resist. He just had to get on the damn raft. 

He swallowed again. Then, nervously, refusing to look at her, held his hand out until it bumped the back of Uma’s. She grabbed hold of it immediately, and he felt his shoulders lose some of their tension. 

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, will you just– can you–”

She laced their fingers tightly together, nodded, and pulled him forward. He nearly cried at the feeling of the water lapping at his skin, but Uma didn't comment on the choked noises he let out, just tugged him gently towards the raft. Once he had clambered on, sending the thing bobbing dangerously and nearly stopping his heart at the thought of falling in the water, she let go of her hand and reached into her pocket to pull out the gag. 

“Are you sure you still want this?” she asked. “I trust you.”

“I don't,” Harry said flatly. “Tie it tight.”

She did, frowning the whole time, then slipped into the water without another word. She took hold of the raft with her hands first, walking backwards until the sand dropped out from under her feet, then kicked for another minute until there was space enough for her to shift. She let go of the raft as she ducked under the water, then rose up to tread water a few feet away. 

“This isn't sturdy,” she warned. “If it gets at all bumpy out here, you're gonna fall off. I'll pull you out as fast as I can, but just be ready for that, okay?” Harry nodded. He had figured as much. Uma took a deep breath and nodded, twisting around to face the horizon. 

“Okay,” she said over her shoulder. “You ready to go?”

Harry nodded, and Uma sank slowly below the water. The raft rocked as she swam beneath it and caught hold of it with a tentacle, and then it was just Harry, the sky, and the water as Uma began to carry him home. 

**Author's Note:**

> I do have a sequel planned for this, about 75% plotted and significantly less than that actually written for it, but it is going to exist at some point. Cross my heart.


End file.
